NOTE: Check the Photos page! Link to pictures from Monday's day trip!
After our long and slightly arduous hike, we returned to the bus and drove up a mountainside to the village of Usfiya to learn about the Druzim (plural for Druze), a religious and cultural minority in Israel. Though their roots are Arabic (having began in Egypt), Israeli Druzim do not consider themselves Arabic, and today an astounding percentage of the Druzi population are active in the Israeli military, protecting and defending their country as zealously as a Jewish Israeli, if not moreso. In fact, many Druzim serve in the highest ranks of the Israeli military and air force.
We were welcomed at a Druzi man's home where he gave us a glimpse at the life and belief system of the Druzim. Among the interesting details:
1. Druzim do not accept converts.
2. There is a belief in reincarnation (human to human).
3. There are secular and religious Druzim, and among the religious they lead very strict lifestyles. There seems to be little to no middle ground between the two lifestyles.
4. Women are highly respected and honored within the religion/culture. In fact, according to our host, some men are even jealous of the status of women among them.
After a very brief talk, giant platters of food were brought out and musicians (a lutist and drummer) set up their equipment. We ate with the sounds of Arabic music in our ears, and once the food was cleared we were encouraged to get up and dance. With so many Latin Americans among us, we didn't need to be told twice!
Despite the feeling that the experience - the talk, the food, the music, the dancing - was well-rehearsed and oft-used, we greatly enjoyed ourselves and left wishing we had learned more. But there was no time for that since it was time for the requisite shopping trip!
Off to another Druzi village we went where we were let loose along a short street lined with touristy Druzi shops. The shopkeepers were kind but aggressive, eager to make a sale to these wide-eyed, unsuspecting foreigners. A bunch of students with shekels burning in their pockets? The shopkeepers needn't have feared.
I also learned the secret to haggling: Don't say anything. At one point I entered a shop which had a wide selection of Israeli/Arab clothing. To one side of me were the wrap skirts I love so much, and to the other side was none other than the pants I love! Of course I was going to buy something, and a girl who worked at the shop stood there staring at me as I picked through the colors and patterns. I'm sure she was impatiently thinking "Pick something, already!" and occasionally she commented on the price: "One for 40 shekel, three for 100." A little while later, after I'd commented a little on this skirt or another, she said "I'll give you one for 35. Take one." When I expressed interest in the 35 shekel pants, she eventually lowered it to 25 without me even offering another price. Apparently if you just have more patience than the other person, they'll keep lowering the price just to get you out of the store!
In the end, I bought a skirt and a pair of pants for 55 shekel (down from 75!). I'm happy :)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Day trip to the North, Part I: Another trip, another mountain
Yesterday the Ulpan had its second tiyul (trip) and this time we ventured north to the Carmel Mountains where we toured a historical immigrant detainment camp, hiked up and around a mountain, briefly peered into a cave, dined and danced in a Druzi village, then had our requisite hour of shopping in the Druzi shook (because your trip is not complete unless you've done some shopping).
Machaneh Ma'apilim - Illegal Immigrant Detainment Camp
In 1939, the British decided they could not possibly accept all the Eastern European Jews who wanted to immigrate to the Palestinian Mandate. As such they granted certificates for legal immigration to very few of the many thousands who sought refuge and new life in Palestine. That didn't keep people from coming, though, and those who made it there without a British-sanctioned certificate were moved immediately to detainment camps in Cypress and places like Machaneh Ma'apilim in Atlit, a northern town directly on the sea.
Though Machaneh Ma'apilim was built before World War II fully began and certainly before anyone knew anything about death camps, it bears a strikingly terrifying resemblance to Nazi concentration camps. With barracks, watchtowers, barbed wire fences, and a large "Disinfection" building, there was little to distinguish this place from the terror many of the immigrants had left behind in Europe towards the end of the war. Quite simply, it was built with efficiency in mind - after all, how do you absorb hundreds of new people, get them and their clothes clean from parasites, and get them into barracks as quickly as possible?
Most of the people who arrived in Palestine did so by way of large ships of all sorts which had been converted to transport immigrants. An example of such a boat had been brought to the current Machaneh and converted into an entire multimedia presentation for visitors, providing an idea of the cramped and uncomfortable conditions full of terrified runaways hoping for a brighter future in this land of Zion, of Jews.
How horrible, then, that the moment they arrived they were immediately imprisoned?
Most people were detained less than a year and eventually found freedom in the country. Their struggle is a significant part of Israel's history as about one fifth of Israel's Jewish population in that generation had gone through one of these camps. It is absolutely astounding, though, to see in the films the sheer determination apparent in these people's faces, the pride they had in making their way to a country with hopes that it would become their own.
Har Carmel - Mount Carmel Hike
"It'll be a nice, easy walk," Ilan told us. "No rush, very nice," he said.
Psh. Yeah right. Apparently not all of us climb mountains on a regular basis, but this was not exactly a "nice, easy walk" by our standards.
There are many hiking trails throughout the Carmel mountains, and I should have known when we arrived and I saw the many coach buses lined up at the base of the trail that we were not going to have the area to ourselves. The hike started out calm enough though I found it difficult to keep up with the group after stopping frequently to take pictures of the flowers and scenery. We soon happened upon another group hiking together, then another, and another. As it became a little more crowded, the terrain also became much more challenging to traverse. Our legs got a workout as we climbed over jagged land and down rocky slopes.
I really should send a Thank You note to the orthopedic surgeon who repaired my knee last year.
Just before reaching the base on the other side, some of us chose to peak into one of the many caves along that stretch of mountains. It might have been a little neater had we not been completely surrounded by a huge group of third-graders on a field trip, but seeing as it was my first time spelunking it was still fascinating! The cave wasn't very deep, but it was tall, moist, and completely black within. I can't believe I forgot my flashlight on the bus!
In between carefully watching my step and making sure I was still with my group (and hadn't accidentally mingled with any of the other non-English-speaking groups around us), I managed to take in a great deal of the nof, view. From the mountain you could see the Mediterranean Sea to the West, majestically azure and calm on this fresh, spring day. Fields and towns lay nestled between the sea and the mountains, quiet and content. The mountain itself featured a wide variety of flowers, small and unassuming individually but strikingly beautiful as a mass, as if painting the hillside. Looking at all the flowers, I almost missed the dead, blackened trees around me.
Last December, there was a huge forest fire that raged through the Carmel mountains, the biggest fire in Israel's history. It destroyed over 10,000 acres of forest and killed over 40 people. It was devastating and terrifying and prompted responses of aid worldwide. Yet despite the fact that the cause of the fire was likely human error and disregard, forest fires are part of the natural circle, as evidenced by the way Spring found its way into and among the charred remains. Flowers and grass are growing well amidst the black bark of undefinable trees as a testament to Nature's strength and perseverance. As one person in our group put it, "Nature wins."
Machaneh Ma'apilim - Illegal Immigrant Detainment Camp
In 1939, the British decided they could not possibly accept all the Eastern European Jews who wanted to immigrate to the Palestinian Mandate. As such they granted certificates for legal immigration to very few of the many thousands who sought refuge and new life in Palestine. That didn't keep people from coming, though, and those who made it there without a British-sanctioned certificate were moved immediately to detainment camps in Cypress and places like Machaneh Ma'apilim in Atlit, a northern town directly on the sea.
Though Machaneh Ma'apilim was built before World War II fully began and certainly before anyone knew anything about death camps, it bears a strikingly terrifying resemblance to Nazi concentration camps. With barracks, watchtowers, barbed wire fences, and a large "Disinfection" building, there was little to distinguish this place from the terror many of the immigrants had left behind in Europe towards the end of the war. Quite simply, it was built with efficiency in mind - after all, how do you absorb hundreds of new people, get them and their clothes clean from parasites, and get them into barracks as quickly as possible?
Most of the people who arrived in Palestine did so by way of large ships of all sorts which had been converted to transport immigrants. An example of such a boat had been brought to the current Machaneh and converted into an entire multimedia presentation for visitors, providing an idea of the cramped and uncomfortable conditions full of terrified runaways hoping for a brighter future in this land of Zion, of Jews.
How horrible, then, that the moment they arrived they were immediately imprisoned?
Most people were detained less than a year and eventually found freedom in the country. Their struggle is a significant part of Israel's history as about one fifth of Israel's Jewish population in that generation had gone through one of these camps. It is absolutely astounding, though, to see in the films the sheer determination apparent in these people's faces, the pride they had in making their way to a country with hopes that it would become their own.
Har Carmel - Mount Carmel Hike
"It'll be a nice, easy walk," Ilan told us. "No rush, very nice," he said.
Psh. Yeah right. Apparently not all of us climb mountains on a regular basis, but this was not exactly a "nice, easy walk" by our standards.
There are many hiking trails throughout the Carmel mountains, and I should have known when we arrived and I saw the many coach buses lined up at the base of the trail that we were not going to have the area to ourselves. The hike started out calm enough though I found it difficult to keep up with the group after stopping frequently to take pictures of the flowers and scenery. We soon happened upon another group hiking together, then another, and another. As it became a little more crowded, the terrain also became much more challenging to traverse. Our legs got a workout as we climbed over jagged land and down rocky slopes.
I really should send a Thank You note to the orthopedic surgeon who repaired my knee last year.
Just before reaching the base on the other side, some of us chose to peak into one of the many caves along that stretch of mountains. It might have been a little neater had we not been completely surrounded by a huge group of third-graders on a field trip, but seeing as it was my first time spelunking it was still fascinating! The cave wasn't very deep, but it was tall, moist, and completely black within. I can't believe I forgot my flashlight on the bus!
In between carefully watching my step and making sure I was still with my group (and hadn't accidentally mingled with any of the other non-English-speaking groups around us), I managed to take in a great deal of the nof, view. From the mountain you could see the Mediterranean Sea to the West, majestically azure and calm on this fresh, spring day. Fields and towns lay nestled between the sea and the mountains, quiet and content. The mountain itself featured a wide variety of flowers, small and unassuming individually but strikingly beautiful as a mass, as if painting the hillside. Looking at all the flowers, I almost missed the dead, blackened trees around me.
Last December, there was a huge forest fire that raged through the Carmel mountains, the biggest fire in Israel's history. It destroyed over 10,000 acres of forest and killed over 40 people. It was devastating and terrifying and prompted responses of aid worldwide. Yet despite the fact that the cause of the fire was likely human error and disregard, forest fires are part of the natural circle, as evidenced by the way Spring found its way into and among the charred remains. Flowers and grass are growing well amidst the black bark of undefinable trees as a testament to Nature's strength and perseverance. As one person in our group put it, "Nature wins."
Friday, March 25, 2011
Reality is sobering
Maybe it's because I'm American and have grown up with an expectation of health and security. I've been raised to believe, wholeheartedly, that as long as I don't talk to strangers and I don't walk in a city alone at night and I don't drive while intoxicated then I need not fear for my wellbeing. Like a simple equation, I was taught that your own actions have their own consequences and that as such you can be the master of your own destiny.
Or maybe it's because I'm currently living on a kibbutz, surrounded by friendly, caring people who go about their daily lives without superfluous concern. The perimeter of my temporary home is innocuously lined with a fence of barbed wire (surprisingly commonplace in this country), and I am lulled into the security of this sheltered community where I can walk freely day and night without fear of harm.
But the bombing at a Jerusalem bus stop on Wednesday has shaken me in ways I do not quite comprehend.
At 3:00 PM Israel time (8:00 am Central Standard Time, USA), a bomb hidden inside a bag exploded, injuring about 40 people. The bag had been left at the bus stop and remotely detonated, and thanks to witnesses, police and Israeli Defense Forces have at least some idea of the terrorist they're tracking. Among the people wounded, four were critically injured, five moderately, and the remaining were treated for minor wounds and shock. One of the women who was seriously injured died later that afternoon due to the injuries she sustained. She was a British tourist.
In class that afternoon our Ulpan director came to tell us the news. When he left the room, leaving in his wake a shocked silence and unnameable tinge of fear, our teacher simply said "Welcome to Israel."
With the exception of a bombing in 2004, Jerusalem has been quiet and relatively peaceful for the past decade. But despite the silence in the national news Israel at large has not experienced peace. Just last week a mom, dad, and three of their five children were slaughtered in their home in the West Bank. Near Gaza in the South, non-explosive rockets are continually lobbed into Israel, hitting nearby cities such as Sderot, and even Beersheba and Ashdod. For people who live in those corners of the country, that threat is simply part of their reality, a constant warning that hovers in the air, becoming part of their breath and life.
To a larger extent, that threat exists everywhere in Israel, and for the first time I think I'm beginning to recognize it. The question is: How do you function with that fear?
It seems the secret to living in Israel and, more specifically, as an Israeli, is to recognize what you can affect and what you cannot, which dangers you can avoid and which you should simply ignore because you have no control over them. You need to trust and have faith in whichever power you choose, whether it be the government, the military, G-d, Man, or the balance of the Universe at large. Following events such as the bombing in Jerusalem or the rockets in Sderot, people learn quickly that the healthiest way to react is to move on, to continue with life as you did the day before. בלי פניקה - without panic.
The amazing thing is that you never actually see any fear in the people around you. Maybe it doesn't exist. Maybe this is all a psychological projection of my own insecurities and American sensibilities. But regardless of whether or not the fear is present it is a testament to the Israeli psyche that life can continue, and joyfully, too.
The reality is that despite threats of violence, life does go on. Traffic flows, stores open and close, the vendors at the shook still yell and bargain and loudly advertise their choicest merchandise. Children still ride the bus to school, parents still go to their offices, and teenagers still try desperately to vainly promote their individuality, just like everyone else. Palm trees remain standing tall, birds still sing, and flowers still look on, demurely adding color and joy to the lives of people who pass them by.
Fear has no place in a world such as this, and people who fear cannot possibly enjoy the plethora of goodness that does exist.
So as a temporary kibbutznik and resident in this tiny country, I, too, will not fear. I'll still make sure not to walk alone in the city at night, and I won't dare get behind any wheel, but I will not waste time in useless contemplation of what is beyond my control.
After all, life is meant to be lived.
Or maybe it's because I'm currently living on a kibbutz, surrounded by friendly, caring people who go about their daily lives without superfluous concern. The perimeter of my temporary home is innocuously lined with a fence of barbed wire (surprisingly commonplace in this country), and I am lulled into the security of this sheltered community where I can walk freely day and night without fear of harm.
But the bombing at a Jerusalem bus stop on Wednesday has shaken me in ways I do not quite comprehend.
At 3:00 PM Israel time (8:00 am Central Standard Time, USA), a bomb hidden inside a bag exploded, injuring about 40 people. The bag had been left at the bus stop and remotely detonated, and thanks to witnesses, police and Israeli Defense Forces have at least some idea of the terrorist they're tracking. Among the people wounded, four were critically injured, five moderately, and the remaining were treated for minor wounds and shock. One of the women who was seriously injured died later that afternoon due to the injuries she sustained. She was a British tourist.
In class that afternoon our Ulpan director came to tell us the news. When he left the room, leaving in his wake a shocked silence and unnameable tinge of fear, our teacher simply said "Welcome to Israel."
With the exception of a bombing in 2004, Jerusalem has been quiet and relatively peaceful for the past decade. But despite the silence in the national news Israel at large has not experienced peace. Just last week a mom, dad, and three of their five children were slaughtered in their home in the West Bank. Near Gaza in the South, non-explosive rockets are continually lobbed into Israel, hitting nearby cities such as Sderot, and even Beersheba and Ashdod. For people who live in those corners of the country, that threat is simply part of their reality, a constant warning that hovers in the air, becoming part of their breath and life.
To a larger extent, that threat exists everywhere in Israel, and for the first time I think I'm beginning to recognize it. The question is: How do you function with that fear?
It seems the secret to living in Israel and, more specifically, as an Israeli, is to recognize what you can affect and what you cannot, which dangers you can avoid and which you should simply ignore because you have no control over them. You need to trust and have faith in whichever power you choose, whether it be the government, the military, G-d, Man, or the balance of the Universe at large. Following events such as the bombing in Jerusalem or the rockets in Sderot, people learn quickly that the healthiest way to react is to move on, to continue with life as you did the day before. בלי פניקה - without panic.
The amazing thing is that you never actually see any fear in the people around you. Maybe it doesn't exist. Maybe this is all a psychological projection of my own insecurities and American sensibilities. But regardless of whether or not the fear is present it is a testament to the Israeli psyche that life can continue, and joyfully, too.
The reality is that despite threats of violence, life does go on. Traffic flows, stores open and close, the vendors at the shook still yell and bargain and loudly advertise their choicest merchandise. Children still ride the bus to school, parents still go to their offices, and teenagers still try desperately to vainly promote their individuality, just like everyone else. Palm trees remain standing tall, birds still sing, and flowers still look on, demurely adding color and joy to the lives of people who pass them by.
Fear has no place in a world such as this, and people who fear cannot possibly enjoy the plethora of goodness that does exist.
So as a temporary kibbutznik and resident in this tiny country, I, too, will not fear. I'll still make sure not to walk alone in the city at night, and I won't dare get behind any wheel, but I will not waste time in useless contemplation of what is beyond my control.
After all, life is meant to be lived.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Purim Weekend, Part III: On the road again
Seeing as the rest of Israel was celebrating Purim on Saturday evening, I wanted to be part of the celebration in some way. However, that would entail finding a place outside Jerusalem to stay for the night, and my new friend and I determined that would be a near impossibility, especially since we were particularly interested in going to Tel Aviv. Another girl at the hostel tried desperately to convince us that we needed to go, no matter the cost, because this is Israel, the only country on Earth where the general public is wildly celebrating a Jewish holiday! Come on, this is rabbinically-sanctioned alcohol consumption! But despite her pleading and attempts to prove that we would surely regret it if we didn't participate, my friend and I decided that we were better suited for a quiet night in Jerusalem. Surely we would still see people in costume, and Tel Aviv could wait for Sunday.
Motzei Shabbat (after Shabbat, i.e. Saturday night) we headed out to Ben Yehudah Street (remember the State Street of Jerusalem?), where it was crowded with droves of people enjoying themselves in much less crazy ways than we would have encountered in Tel Aviv that night. We enjoyed the sites, the sounds, the many musical buskers of varying levels of talent, and decided that we were going to celebrate with some good ol' fashioned gelato. On our way, however, we were apprehended by two guys who were quite obviously looking to get some phone numbers. I'll admit, though, they started the conversation in the least sleazy way possible. One came up to my friend from behind her, touched her on the shoulder and said "Sarah? Oh, you're not Sarah! I thought I saw my friend; you look so much like her!" They started talking while his friend started a conversation with me, and then they joined us for gelato. Nicely done, boys, nicely done.
The next morning we departed for Tel Aviv, though not before stopping at the giant shook (market) at Machaneh Yehudah where we got some fruit and bread for breakfast. 1.5 shekel for an orange twice the size of my fist? Yes please! We hopped a bus to Tel Aviv with the intention of spending the afternoon on the beach, but alas it was overcast and thus we didn't get quite the tan were hoping for. Still, we treated ourselves at a beachside restaurant for a midday snack, then walked around and found some fantastic shwarma (Israeli gyro) in the afternoon.
As we walked through Tel Aviv with its fancy beach front hotels, plethora of restaurants and shops, and large city vistas in the background, I noted that, having just come from Jerusalem, it was like going from Washington D.C. to California in an hour. I know some Jews often bemoan the lilliputian size of Israel, but quite frankly it's wonderful to be able to do so much, see so many different places, experience such extreme variety in very little time. You want hot? Go south for the day. Cold? Go north. Mountains? Northeast. Religion? West. A more cosmopolitan experience? East. Snorkeling? South. And you can do it all in one week. Heck, you could even hitchhike most of the way!
I suppose I should thank Israeli public transportation at this point. Thank you, Israeli public transportation! You may not always make sense, but you're always there! (Except on Shabbat.)
As it turned out, there was little Purim-related celebration to be found on Sunday in Tel Aviv, and in some ways I'm sorry I couldn't be in Jerusalem for their parties Sunday night, but my friend and I thoroughly enjoyed our own, relaxing, personal Purim. And if I did, in fact, miss something significant, then I guess I'll just have to come back to Israel some other year and do Purim right.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Purim Weekend, Part II: Lo lefached klal
Friday night I slept comfortably at the hostel with more than a dozen other girls, all of us well-fed after Friday evening's dinner at various family's homes. Saturday morning I awoke and quietly ate a breakfast of pastries and juice while I waited for the other girls to get up. I had a pleasant conversation with one of our madrichot (like a counselor or RA) for the weekend, an orthodox girl who, two years earlier, barely knew the aleph bet. I joined her to hear the special Torah reading for that weekend, then we passed the time before our lunch placements.
The nonchalant, carefree atmosphere of Saturday morning set the tone for the rest of Shabbat. All was pleasantly calm as we had our lunches, walked around and relaxed in the afternoon, and joined the men's hostel for the third Shabbat meal. I drifted between small groups of people, joining conversations here and there as I was interested. In the afternoon I had a wonderful song session with Batya, a beautiful African American kallah (bride - she's getting married in June!) who, despite her Baptist roots, is now an Orthodox Jew. She has a gorgeous singing voice and I thoroughly enjoyed making up harmonies and countermelodies with someone who shared my passion and fervor for music.
Of course, as was indicated by Friday night's festivities, music played no small role in this Shabbat. Every meal was seasoned with our voices, our clapping, and our raucous percussion on the tables. Per Orthodox custom the women generally remained rather quiet while the men sang at the top of their lungs, but their spirit and joy was so overwhelmingly persuasive that I couldn't help but sing, even if it was mostly to myself.
For the third Shabbat meal, we were led in song by the evening's guest, a recently married young rabbi who spoke about Divine Providence. There, the women sang more openly because there were few married men who needed to be concerned with hearing the beautiful voice of someone other than his wife. We repeated the melodies until the tables shook with our percussion, and it was so much fun to see the guys so fully swept up in the spirit of the moment.
After dinner I went with another girl to the Kotel in hopes of catching Havdallah, the closing service for Shabbat. I had heard that Havdallah at the Kotel is an amazing experience, but alas, we were a few minutes late and missed it. So instead we sat and talked, learned about each other, and developed a friendship faster than I think I have ever experienced. She had recently come to Israel on a two-week trip and was spending Shabbat in Jerusalem because her brother is a student at a yeshivah (religious school) in the Old City.
I went to Jerusalem not knowing what I would do on Saturday. I figured I might walk around, see the city, get lost, and enjoy the day. Little did I realize I would be entirely immersed in a Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) community in the Old City. I'm glad I didn't have other plans :)
Monday, March 21, 2011
Purim Weekend, Part I: Am yisroel chai!
Last weekend I went to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, and throughout it all I frequently thought about how I would attempt to describe it in a single blog entry. My conclusion is that I cannot: it is utterly impossible. From the moment I left on Friday noon to the moment I returned on Sunday evening, every moment seemed worthy of repetition, description, and prosaic musing. Every person I met, conversation I had, song that I sang, and bit of joy I experienced seems deserving of notice in my mind, and yet the Blogosphere is already inundated with enough public cogitation, so I will refrain from writing a book about my single, wonderful weekend.
To begin the Reader's Digest version of my fantastic weekend, let me proclaim that I must be one of the only people who can travel to Israel and entirely avoid the holiday of Purim. I intended to go to Jerusalem to celebrate Purim, thinking that a party in Jerusalem would be just as much fun but slightly less crazy than in Tel Aviv. However, I found out upon arriving in Jerusalem that because it's a walled city, it celebrates Purim a day later, on Purim Shushan, because during the war in the story of Purim, the capital of Persia, Shushan, was a walled city and thus was the last to be attacked. As such, walled cities celebrate Purim Shushan, and though I'm sure I was taught that in some Hebrew school lesson years ago, I promptly put it out of my mind as useless information. (Walled cities in the U.S.? Yeah..... no.) So while I had hoped to celebrate Saturday evening, Jerusalem was celebrating Sunday evening, when I had to be back at the kibbutz. Darnit. But, I still had a great time.
I stayed in the Women's Heritage House Hostel in the Old City, which together with the men's hostel are owned and operated by Orthodox Jews. They don't expect their visitors to be religious, but they do offer many opportunities for food and learning for those who are interested. Free food? Count me in! Free home-cooked meals with families and lots of guests? Even better! Oh, and they all speak English. Slightly detracts from the Israeli experience, but wonderful nonetheless.
I knew my weekend would be wonderful when the moment I entered the hostel I was immediately treated not as a guest, but as family. Among the girls who were already there I felt welcomed and accepted as if I'd already been there for a week. I had the impression it was normally like that, in one way or another, but it was such a fantastic way to begin my weekend.
Before getting placed with families for dinner on Friday night, we went to the Kotel (Western Wall), and I was utterly taken aback by how many soldiers I saw! Apparently it's common to see large groups of soldiers going to the Kotel on Friday nights with their units/brigades/sections/whatever-the-classification-is. It seemed as if I wouldn't even be able to get to the Kotel due to the large mass of soldiers and other people. Luckily, that evening, touching the Wall became much less important than being in proximity with so many other people.
I began to hear vibrant singing from a large group of girls in front of me (keep in mind, men and women have separate sections, so I was completely surrounded only by women). Not knowing exactly who was singing, I added my voice to the beautiful mixture just before loud, rhythmic clapping erupted behind me. The group of female soldiers had formed a circle and started dancing, singing, and clapping to a variety of Hebrew songs. Before long, the upbeat tempo of the soldiers had affected the girls' slow, moving singing and what ensued was the largest, most joyful impromptu singing and dancing session I have ever experienced.
Nearly the entire women's side was converted into large circles, one inside the other, of women young and old, soldiers and common citizens, religious and secular, all singing and dancing as loud and triumphantly as we could. When we suddenly forgot the words to one song, someone would shout the opening melody of another one and off we would go, joyfully celebrating in one another's company and ruach (spirit).
I'll admit, there was a point before I started dancing when I was just absorbing the scene and imprinting the souvenir that I nearly cried out of sheer joy at what I was seeing. Here, at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, were groups of Jewish girls from all different backgrounds and lives, dancing together and sharing in a singularly perfect moment which stemmed from nothing more than happiness and thanksgiving. This improvised display of Jewish sisterhood was almost more than my emotions could bear.
And the same thing was happening on the men's side. I'd like to think we had more fun, though ;)
That evening as I sat with strangers-turned-friends at a large Shabbos dinner table, I described this scene in all its glorious perfection. We had been talking about how some Jews don't like Israel or even its existence as a Jewish state, and after experiencing what I did at the Kotel, I said "I feel that Jews who are against Israel simply haven't experienced it, because where else would you see so many Jews of so many different backgrounds and affiliations dancing and singing together unannounced? This is Israel. This is what it's all about."
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Pre-Purim Preparations
Being in a Jewish country means that people's lives are surrounded by and governed by the Jewish Calendar with its multitude of holidays, memorials, and special days. For the five months of this Ulpan, we will celebrate five holidays (four Jewish, one Israeli), and that's still less than what the Ulpan in the other half of the year celebrates. I've gotta admit, Judaism's got at least one thing right: we know how to party!
And come Saturday night, party we shall!
Saturday night/Sunday is the Jewish holiday of Purim, one of the craziest and most fun holidays in our calendar. As with most of our other holidays, the theme is "They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat," but this one has the added benefit of giving everyone an excuse to dress up in fancy outfits and costumes and give gifts of candy and sometimes money. Oh, and we're actually supposed to get drunk, to the point that we don't know the difference between the protagonist and the antagonist in the story of the holiday. (I, however, do not intend to take part in that particular mitzvah.)
Quick story of the holiday: In Persia (modern-day Iran) in about 350 B.C.E., King Achashverosh ruled over 100 provinces with Vashti as his queen. At a grand party, the thoroughly drunken men requested to see Vashti, but she refused and so Haman, the King's vizier, told him he should not put up with such disobedience. So the King was forced to look for a new wife by means of a beauty pageant where Esther, a young, beautiful Jewish woman, was chosen (though the king did not know she was Jewish). Her uncle Mordechai wanted her to become queen so that the many Jewish people living in Persia might have a better outlook. When Mordechai heard that Haman wanted to kill all the Jews of Persia and that Achashverosh agreed to it, he told Esther to approach the king and tell him of her origins. Mordechai also heard of Haman's plot to kill the king, and certainly with that knowledge the king would not dismiss Esther. Well, happy ending, the Jews were allowed to defend themselves on the day when they were supposed to be killed (because the king couldn't reverse his own decree), and Haman was hanged, along with his wife and ten sons. Like I said: They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat!
Even though it's a few days before Purim, I'm already seeing little girls dressed as princesses and boys dressed as superheros, enjoying the pre-Purim parties at school and the like. Shops are selling mishloach manot, the gift baskets of sweets and treats sent to friends on the holiday. The triangular cookies filled with jam or chocolate, called Hamantaschen (Yiddish)/Oznei Haman (Hebrew) are found at every bakery, and plastic masks like those found at Mardi Gras are easy to find.
Even though Purim isn't a religious holiday that calls for a day of rest (like the Sabbath or other Holy Days), the Ulpan is giving us Sunday off, perhaps with some people's hangovers in mind. We have all been encouraged to leave the kibbutz and travel a bit, so I'm planning on going to Jerusalem. I know the big parties are in Tel Aviv this weekend, but as I'm sure you know I'm not a big party kind of person, and I also happen to have a coupon for two nights free at a hostel in the Old City. Perfect, no? I'm hoping to get to Jerusalem early enough to go to the shook (market) at Machaneh Yehudah on Friday afternoon before going to the Old City, and then I'll wander around Jerusalem for two days. I'm thoroughly looking forward to it.
I don't have a costume or anything, but I'm sure I'll find a mask and a funny hat somewhere between now and whatever party I do attend. And regardless of what I end up doing, I'm sure it will be a wonderful time!
And come Saturday night, party we shall!
Saturday night/Sunday is the Jewish holiday of Purim, one of the craziest and most fun holidays in our calendar. As with most of our other holidays, the theme is "They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat," but this one has the added benefit of giving everyone an excuse to dress up in fancy outfits and costumes and give gifts of candy and sometimes money. Oh, and we're actually supposed to get drunk, to the point that we don't know the difference between the protagonist and the antagonist in the story of the holiday. (I, however, do not intend to take part in that particular mitzvah.)
Quick story of the holiday: In Persia (modern-day Iran) in about 350 B.C.E., King Achashverosh ruled over 100 provinces with Vashti as his queen. At a grand party, the thoroughly drunken men requested to see Vashti, but she refused and so Haman, the King's vizier, told him he should not put up with such disobedience. So the King was forced to look for a new wife by means of a beauty pageant where Esther, a young, beautiful Jewish woman, was chosen (though the king did not know she was Jewish). Her uncle Mordechai wanted her to become queen so that the many Jewish people living in Persia might have a better outlook. When Mordechai heard that Haman wanted to kill all the Jews of Persia and that Achashverosh agreed to it, he told Esther to approach the king and tell him of her origins. Mordechai also heard of Haman's plot to kill the king, and certainly with that knowledge the king would not dismiss Esther. Well, happy ending, the Jews were allowed to defend themselves on the day when they were supposed to be killed (because the king couldn't reverse his own decree), and Haman was hanged, along with his wife and ten sons. Like I said: They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat!
Even though it's a few days before Purim, I'm already seeing little girls dressed as princesses and boys dressed as superheros, enjoying the pre-Purim parties at school and the like. Shops are selling mishloach manot, the gift baskets of sweets and treats sent to friends on the holiday. The triangular cookies filled with jam or chocolate, called Hamantaschen (Yiddish)/Oznei Haman (Hebrew) are found at every bakery, and plastic masks like those found at Mardi Gras are easy to find.
Even though Purim isn't a religious holiday that calls for a day of rest (like the Sabbath or other Holy Days), the Ulpan is giving us Sunday off, perhaps with some people's hangovers in mind. We have all been encouraged to leave the kibbutz and travel a bit, so I'm planning on going to Jerusalem. I know the big parties are in Tel Aviv this weekend, but as I'm sure you know I'm not a big party kind of person, and I also happen to have a coupon for two nights free at a hostel in the Old City. Perfect, no? I'm hoping to get to Jerusalem early enough to go to the shook (market) at Machaneh Yehudah on Friday afternoon before going to the Old City, and then I'll wander around Jerusalem for two days. I'm thoroughly looking forward to it.
I don't have a costume or anything, but I'm sure I'll find a mask and a funny hat somewhere between now and whatever party I do attend. And regardless of what I end up doing, I'm sure it will be a wonderful time!
Monday, March 14, 2011
An evening of fine culture ala Shostakovitch
I know at least two of you out there have been anxiously wondering how my evening at the opera was. And I shall tell you quite succinctly:
It was absolutely, marvelously splendid!
Alright, enough of that short-and-sweet silliness. On to the good stuff.
The evening began in the middle of the afternoon. I had to make my way from Kibbutz Na'an to Tel Aviv by 6:00, but really I wanted to get their earlier to make sure I knew where I was, allow for inevitably getting lost, and maybe even have some time to walk around and take in a few of the sites in the city. (Note: Tel Aviv is arguably the most cosmopolitan and contemporary city in Israel, second in population only to Jerusalem.) So I took a taxi from the kibbutz to Rehovot where I hopped on a train (almost literally, I was so excited) with the kind woman who assured me that I was, indeed, on the right platform. For the 25-or-so minutes we were on the train we chatted pleasantly (her English was fantastic, I might add), and before leaving she gave me her phone number in case I might ever need anything in Jerusalem, where she lives. She also gave me the name and number of a religious gentleman who apparently makes it his job to give young travelers in Jerusalem a place to eat for Shabbos dinner. Such generous hospitality! She also made sure to note that whether or not it was in my plans, I would likely end up making aliyah (immigrating to Israel) - because that's what so many people do! Such an Israeli philosophy :)
Made it to the correct train station in Tel Aviv thanks to the advice of my earlier taxi driver, made my way out of the station, and stepped into the wide, sunny, bustling world of Tel Aviv. I knew more-or-less what direction to go, but I did ask a few strangers (in Hebrew!) how to get to the street where I would find the Performing Arts Center. It was a little further than I expected, but I found it. Almost missed it, too! But as I was walking I saw a street sign for the Israeli Opera. Then another. Then another. Then I looked at the building I had just photographed for its grand facade and found, to my astonishment, that I was looking at the home of the Opera. The joy I experienced in that moment would have, I am certain, made a professional psychologist question my sanity. But I was so excited not only for the opera but for the opportunity to see my first fully-staged professional opera in Israel and to bask in the company of other like-minded music enthusiasts (read: nerds).
When my friend got done with work and met me there, we got coffee and tea while we waited for the half-priced tickets to go on sale. Upon purchasing them we found out that it was actually free for him to go because he's in the army. Lucky. Surprise, surprise, he's considering going to many more events now with this knowledge in hand. I don't blame him a bit.
We still had two hours before the show so we traipsed around Tel Aviv looking for a place to eat. Now, I should clarify that he was traipsing. I was running. His height was a significant disadvantage for me. Luckily he knew where we were going so our jog was not for naught and we ended up with some quick and inexpensive Israeli thin crust pizza. Gotta admit, Israeli fast food puts American fast food to shame!
We got back to the Performing Arts Center with just enough time. The theater was beautiful, with dark woodwork and smooth shapes throughout. And despite our inexpensive tickets, we had a perfect view of the stage! Third row balcony, center. Absolutely perfect for us. Though as my friend pointed out, we found ourselves in the "Retirement Loge." I didn't mind; at least the old man next to me didn't snore when he fell asleep.
The show began with a short introductory narration in recitative and my friend and I both silently celebrated when we found the projected translations above the stage to be in both Hebrew and English. And with the lead soprano's opening melody I finally understood what one of my professors once said: Opera is meant to be seen, not blindly listened to. Admittedly I don't normally care for the operatic vocal aesthetic, but she was telling a story and it didn't matter to me. Of course her voice was beautiful and carried perfectly unaided in the expansive theatre, but it was that combined with the orchestra and the story that made it all come together.
Now, of course I expected the music to be fantastic. But what I hadn't considered was the stage and set. All I can say is WOW. This was a fantastic, ingenious idea for a set. The entire set was a series of hinged wooden walls, one the entire length and height of the stage, that could be moved and transformed to fit each scene. It worked perfectly, seamlessly, and dramatically. Both my friend and I commented on it endlessly during intermission.
The orchestra was absolutely magnificent and conducted by a female conductor! This is significant because there are so few female conductors of significant repute throughout the world, so seeing a woman conducting the orchestra for the Tel Aviv Opera was wonderful! What's more, Shostakovitch scored this opera heavily with brass, so there was an antiphonal brass choir situated in either loge near the stage. There were also musical interludes during which the brass choir descended to the stage and played directly to the audience, acting as a sort of modified Greek Chorus at significant transitions in the production.
The only drawback to being in the balcony was that at times we felt detached from the singers, but they were still quite audible. Though there was one man in particular with such a strong baritone voice I'm sure there wasn't a person in that room unable to hear him perfectly.
I must admit, there are a few humorous anomalies about seeing an opera in Israel. For instance, in a show including three murders, a wedding, and a suicide, there's bound to be a religious figure, and in Russia that figure is an Eastern Orthodox priest. So there is something rather hilarious about seeing a man who otherwise looks like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof wearing a priest's vestments and making the sign of the cross with the rest of the cast on stage. Let's face it: most of those people were Jews, so it added a hint of comedy in times when there probably should have been none. I couldn't help it - I snickered.
The show ended after 11:00 pm, at which point my friend and I had to make our ways back to Rehovot and then to our respective homes. Again we walked/jogged to the central bus station where we took a sherut (a large van which serves as a less expensive and faster option than a regular bus) to Rehovot then each took our own taxi back. My taxi driver, Avi, was incredibly kind and talkative, and he, too, assured me that I'd be back to Israel. "They all come back," he said. And when I paid him he smiled warmly, told me how I'm such a nice girl, and wished me good night.
I promptly conked out after 1:00 am, pleasantly exhausted and culturally refreshed.
__________________________________
P.S. Pictures will be up soon on Flickr, and a link will be added to the Photos page, both within the next days or so.
It was absolutely, marvelously splendid!
Alright, enough of that short-and-sweet silliness. On to the good stuff.
The evening began in the middle of the afternoon. I had to make my way from Kibbutz Na'an to Tel Aviv by 6:00, but really I wanted to get their earlier to make sure I knew where I was, allow for inevitably getting lost, and maybe even have some time to walk around and take in a few of the sites in the city. (Note: Tel Aviv is arguably the most cosmopolitan and contemporary city in Israel, second in population only to Jerusalem.) So I took a taxi from the kibbutz to Rehovot where I hopped on a train (almost literally, I was so excited) with the kind woman who assured me that I was, indeed, on the right platform. For the 25-or-so minutes we were on the train we chatted pleasantly (her English was fantastic, I might add), and before leaving she gave me her phone number in case I might ever need anything in Jerusalem, where she lives. She also gave me the name and number of a religious gentleman who apparently makes it his job to give young travelers in Jerusalem a place to eat for Shabbos dinner. Such generous hospitality! She also made sure to note that whether or not it was in my plans, I would likely end up making aliyah (immigrating to Israel) - because that's what so many people do! Such an Israeli philosophy :)
Made it to the correct train station in Tel Aviv thanks to the advice of my earlier taxi driver, made my way out of the station, and stepped into the wide, sunny, bustling world of Tel Aviv. I knew more-or-less what direction to go, but I did ask a few strangers (in Hebrew!) how to get to the street where I would find the Performing Arts Center. It was a little further than I expected, but I found it. Almost missed it, too! But as I was walking I saw a street sign for the Israeli Opera. Then another. Then another. Then I looked at the building I had just photographed for its grand facade and found, to my astonishment, that I was looking at the home of the Opera. The joy I experienced in that moment would have, I am certain, made a professional psychologist question my sanity. But I was so excited not only for the opera but for the opportunity to see my first fully-staged professional opera in Israel and to bask in the company of other like-minded music enthusiasts (read: nerds).
When my friend got done with work and met me there, we got coffee and tea while we waited for the half-priced tickets to go on sale. Upon purchasing them we found out that it was actually free for him to go because he's in the army. Lucky. Surprise, surprise, he's considering going to many more events now with this knowledge in hand. I don't blame him a bit.
We still had two hours before the show so we traipsed around Tel Aviv looking for a place to eat. Now, I should clarify that he was traipsing. I was running. His height was a significant disadvantage for me. Luckily he knew where we were going so our jog was not for naught and we ended up with some quick and inexpensive Israeli thin crust pizza. Gotta admit, Israeli fast food puts American fast food to shame!
We got back to the Performing Arts Center with just enough time. The theater was beautiful, with dark woodwork and smooth shapes throughout. And despite our inexpensive tickets, we had a perfect view of the stage! Third row balcony, center. Absolutely perfect for us. Though as my friend pointed out, we found ourselves in the "Retirement Loge." I didn't mind; at least the old man next to me didn't snore when he fell asleep.
The show began with a short introductory narration in recitative and my friend and I both silently celebrated when we found the projected translations above the stage to be in both Hebrew and English. And with the lead soprano's opening melody I finally understood what one of my professors once said: Opera is meant to be seen, not blindly listened to. Admittedly I don't normally care for the operatic vocal aesthetic, but she was telling a story and it didn't matter to me. Of course her voice was beautiful and carried perfectly unaided in the expansive theatre, but it was that combined with the orchestra and the story that made it all come together.
Now, of course I expected the music to be fantastic. But what I hadn't considered was the stage and set. All I can say is WOW. This was a fantastic, ingenious idea for a set. The entire set was a series of hinged wooden walls, one the entire length and height of the stage, that could be moved and transformed to fit each scene. It worked perfectly, seamlessly, and dramatically. Both my friend and I commented on it endlessly during intermission.
The orchestra was absolutely magnificent and conducted by a female conductor! This is significant because there are so few female conductors of significant repute throughout the world, so seeing a woman conducting the orchestra for the Tel Aviv Opera was wonderful! What's more, Shostakovitch scored this opera heavily with brass, so there was an antiphonal brass choir situated in either loge near the stage. There were also musical interludes during which the brass choir descended to the stage and played directly to the audience, acting as a sort of modified Greek Chorus at significant transitions in the production.
The only drawback to being in the balcony was that at times we felt detached from the singers, but they were still quite audible. Though there was one man in particular with such a strong baritone voice I'm sure there wasn't a person in that room unable to hear him perfectly.
I must admit, there are a few humorous anomalies about seeing an opera in Israel. For instance, in a show including three murders, a wedding, and a suicide, there's bound to be a religious figure, and in Russia that figure is an Eastern Orthodox priest. So there is something rather hilarious about seeing a man who otherwise looks like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof wearing a priest's vestments and making the sign of the cross with the rest of the cast on stage. Let's face it: most of those people were Jews, so it added a hint of comedy in times when there probably should have been none. I couldn't help it - I snickered.
The show ended after 11:00 pm, at which point my friend and I had to make our ways back to Rehovot and then to our respective homes. Again we walked/jogged to the central bus station where we took a sherut (a large van which serves as a less expensive and faster option than a regular bus) to Rehovot then each took our own taxi back. My taxi driver, Avi, was incredibly kind and talkative, and he, too, assured me that I'd be back to Israel. "They all come back," he said. And when I paid him he smiled warmly, told me how I'm such a nice girl, and wished me good night.
I promptly conked out after 1:00 am, pleasantly exhausted and culturally refreshed.
__________________________________
P.S. Pictures will be up soon on Flickr, and a link will be added to the Photos page, both within the next days or so.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Jewish Mommies
After yesterday's excitement, I decided a fun Shabbat (with a more light-hearted blogpost) was in order. I could dwell on the politics of Wisconsin, or even more pressing, the recent catastrophe in Japan (which kind of puts things in perspective, don't you think, Wisconsonites?) But this is not a political or current events blog nor do I want it to turn into such. That being said, I feel at least a few words about Japan are in order:
I heard about the tsunami a few hours after it occurred, and I was utterly shocked, to put it mildly. I simply don't know how to react in such circumstances. What can you possibly say? Then tonight I watched video footage on the chadashot (news) which left me utterly speechless and horrified. To know that so many people's lives were so immediately and definitively altered, even destroyed, is beyond comprehension. Let us all pray or hope or wish for a return to normalcy and safety for those in Japan and the Pacific, and let us further count our innumerable blessings.
Tonight I went to services and, as I have begun to expect, was invited to dinner. However tonight it wasn't to be at my Israeli mom's house (her name is Shoshi, by the way), but at her friends' whom I met last week around her table. But after services and before going to dinner we stopped at Shoshi's house where she insisted I put on warmer clothes. Apparently a calf-length skirt, long-sleeved shirt, knitted poncho, and fleece jacket isn't enough in "winter" (or what passes as winter in Israel. Psh. They don't know what they're talking about). So I came back tonight with a pair of socks, thick winter leggings, a sweater, and a winter jacket, all of which she told me to keep. Despite the fact that I told her I really wasn't cold, she refused to believe me. "You know, a mother can sense how a child feels," she told me. "And you need warmer clothes. I don't care if you're used to colder than this." And that was that. End of discussion.
Dinner at her friends' house was pleasant, with warm food and friendly company, as always. We left early because Shoshi has a busy day tomorrow, and in all fairness I wanted to take a nap before going to the club tonight. Yes, I'm going. A couple girls here have convinced me to go, seeing as I haven't been there since the first weekend. But upon returning to the Ulpan I discovered that a nap is absolutely out of the question since the Ulpan has apparently been overrun with Latin Americans. I'm not sure who they all are, but I'm under the impression they're friends of today's birthday girl (one of the students from Argentina). And if the students here are any indication then Latin Americans love to party and make noise, which means no sleep for me! I guess that's what Saturday will be for.
I'm actually looking forward to going to the club tonight. What with politics and a few other things, I've been getting a little bogged down in heavy thoughts and I need a night of dancing to horrible, loud music with a good beat and lots of people around me. But don't worry, Mommies and Daddies everywhere, I'll be safe. I promise. And I'll make sure to wear a warm jacket. :)
I heard about the tsunami a few hours after it occurred, and I was utterly shocked, to put it mildly. I simply don't know how to react in such circumstances. What can you possibly say? Then tonight I watched video footage on the chadashot (news) which left me utterly speechless and horrified. To know that so many people's lives were so immediately and definitively altered, even destroyed, is beyond comprehension. Let us all pray or hope or wish for a return to normalcy and safety for those in Japan and the Pacific, and let us further count our innumerable blessings.
Tonight I went to services and, as I have begun to expect, was invited to dinner. However tonight it wasn't to be at my Israeli mom's house (her name is Shoshi, by the way), but at her friends' whom I met last week around her table. But after services and before going to dinner we stopped at Shoshi's house where she insisted I put on warmer clothes. Apparently a calf-length skirt, long-sleeved shirt, knitted poncho, and fleece jacket isn't enough in "winter" (or what passes as winter in Israel. Psh. They don't know what they're talking about). So I came back tonight with a pair of socks, thick winter leggings, a sweater, and a winter jacket, all of which she told me to keep. Despite the fact that I told her I really wasn't cold, she refused to believe me. "You know, a mother can sense how a child feels," she told me. "And you need warmer clothes. I don't care if you're used to colder than this." And that was that. End of discussion.
Dinner at her friends' house was pleasant, with warm food and friendly company, as always. We left early because Shoshi has a busy day tomorrow, and in all fairness I wanted to take a nap before going to the club tonight. Yes, I'm going. A couple girls here have convinced me to go, seeing as I haven't been there since the first weekend. But upon returning to the Ulpan I discovered that a nap is absolutely out of the question since the Ulpan has apparently been overrun with Latin Americans. I'm not sure who they all are, but I'm under the impression they're friends of today's birthday girl (one of the students from Argentina). And if the students here are any indication then Latin Americans love to party and make noise, which means no sleep for me! I guess that's what Saturday will be for.
I'm actually looking forward to going to the club tonight. What with politics and a few other things, I've been getting a little bogged down in heavy thoughts and I need a night of dancing to horrible, loud music with a good beat and lots of people around me. But don't worry, Mommies and Daddies everywhere, I'll be safe. I promise. And I'll make sure to wear a warm jacket. :)
Thursday, March 10, 2011
And now for something completely different
After over three weeks of protests and public dissent in Wisconsin, I can no longer conceal my extreme aggravation and truculence regarding Governor Scott Walker's attempt to demonize the lower and middle class, as well as teachers and other public workers. It has come to my attention that with help from the Republican-dominated Wisconsin Senate, the slightly modified Budget Repair Bill has passed through the Senate without the presence of any Democratic congressmen. I was never pleased with the bill or Walker's attempts to hastily push it through, but this most recent act goes beyond my personal concerns about the bill itself or its effect on public workers' unions. This reprehensible act is no less than a sick perversion of power with complete disregard to the American political process. It goes beyond an attempt to fix Wisconsin's budget, goes beyond personal vendettas, goes beyond Wisconsin itself: this act is a sign of the desperate political climate in which America finds itself, and it terrifies me to no end. For the first time in my life, a political travesty is bringing me to tears.
2008 was the first year I could vote in a presidential election and thus was the first time I had payed significant attention to the process. I was both excited and astonished by what I saw and experienced. After eight years of a president who gradually lost the grace of public opinion, America as a whole was ready and eager for a new president. We yearned for charisma and strength, a person who would serve not only as our country's leader but as an American Hero to majestically save us from our steady downward slide. Each citizen pinned their hopes on candidates with the strongest personality, the most eloquent speech, the greatest smile, the strongest handshake. For months on end, people rallied and raved for their top pick.
At the beginning, it was exciting and intriguing, but by the end the scene seemed to change. Sure, there was still passion and hope among supporters of all parties, but somehow, imperceptibly, the goal had changed. By the time Obama and McCain were shoe-ins for the ultimate showdown it was no longer about electing the most competent potential president: it was a competition between the Left and the Right, the Democrats and Republicans, the Liberals and Conservatives, to win. And apparently it was stipulated in some unwritten code that whoever won got bragging rights and power over the opposing party for the next few years.
At least until the congressional and state elections.
What has transpired in Wisconsin since our gubernatorial election is precisely what happened in 2008 but with a vengeance. If Walker's actions are any indication, we currently face a political climate which completely disregards the intent of a system designed with checks and balances to ensure the most fair and impartial representation of the People. What we as a country have stumbled into is, quite frankly, one giant pissing contest. Unfortunately, society is a hierarchy. And gravity is strong.
Despite its introduction, this editorial is not about Walker, nor is it about Republicans or the State of Wisconsin. It is about what we as Americans are doing to ourselves and each other in our zealous quest for dominion and pride. Neither Republicans nor Democrats are immune to this, and both are guilty of underhanded moves and questionable tactics to win. Win what? I'm not sure anyone really knows anymore.
It seems to me that the American political party system was designed to ensure that the optimism of one party was always tempered by (but not overruled by) the realism of the other. Traditionally, Democrats support and are supported by the lower and middle classes, and their agenda includes public programs and aid for those who might otherwise not have such options. So the Democrats go to Congress saying "I want to do this! I want to give all this money to the people who have less! I want to educate and offer opportunities to people who otherwise have none!" And, as I imagine it was intended, the Republicans say "Okay, but let's look at this realistically. How can we do this in the most responsible manner in order to achieve both your goals and ours?" Or the Republicans who go to Congress saying "I want to encourage business and entrepreneurship! I want people to make lives for themselves and to be rewarded for doing so!" The Democrats' job is then to listen and say "Great idea. Now how do we make this work without subjugating others who are not businessmen and women?"
Now, wouldn't that be idyllic?
Instead what we have are two parties who refuse to listen to the other or even to the people they represent. They take the power of their party and run with it, as far and as quickly as they can, before they are caught or overrun. This is not politics. This is sports. Played with very unsportsmanlike conduct.
(Have you noticed that even in the Superbowl, players from opposing teams help each other off the ground and shake hands after the game? Maybe our politicians should learn to do the same.)
In regards to Wisconsin, the sheer fact that Walker and the Republicans refused dialogue and open discourse with the Democrat representatives and the People is an example of precisely the kind of I-win-you-lose-neener-neener politics that has been displayed in this country for the last number of years.
I am sick of it in the most literal sense of the phrase. I am, in all ways, repulsed by this dyspeptic show of political steroid-induced muscle. And yet I fear it has only just begun.
2008 was the first year I could vote in a presidential election and thus was the first time I had payed significant attention to the process. I was both excited and astonished by what I saw and experienced. After eight years of a president who gradually lost the grace of public opinion, America as a whole was ready and eager for a new president. We yearned for charisma and strength, a person who would serve not only as our country's leader but as an American Hero to majestically save us from our steady downward slide. Each citizen pinned their hopes on candidates with the strongest personality, the most eloquent speech, the greatest smile, the strongest handshake. For months on end, people rallied and raved for their top pick.
At the beginning, it was exciting and intriguing, but by the end the scene seemed to change. Sure, there was still passion and hope among supporters of all parties, but somehow, imperceptibly, the goal had changed. By the time Obama and McCain were shoe-ins for the ultimate showdown it was no longer about electing the most competent potential president: it was a competition between the Left and the Right, the Democrats and Republicans, the Liberals and Conservatives, to win. And apparently it was stipulated in some unwritten code that whoever won got bragging rights and power over the opposing party for the next few years.
At least until the congressional and state elections.
What has transpired in Wisconsin since our gubernatorial election is precisely what happened in 2008 but with a vengeance. If Walker's actions are any indication, we currently face a political climate which completely disregards the intent of a system designed with checks and balances to ensure the most fair and impartial representation of the People. What we as a country have stumbled into is, quite frankly, one giant pissing contest. Unfortunately, society is a hierarchy. And gravity is strong.
Despite its introduction, this editorial is not about Walker, nor is it about Republicans or the State of Wisconsin. It is about what we as Americans are doing to ourselves and each other in our zealous quest for dominion and pride. Neither Republicans nor Democrats are immune to this, and both are guilty of underhanded moves and questionable tactics to win. Win what? I'm not sure anyone really knows anymore.
It seems to me that the American political party system was designed to ensure that the optimism of one party was always tempered by (but not overruled by) the realism of the other. Traditionally, Democrats support and are supported by the lower and middle classes, and their agenda includes public programs and aid for those who might otherwise not have such options. So the Democrats go to Congress saying "I want to do this! I want to give all this money to the people who have less! I want to educate and offer opportunities to people who otherwise have none!" And, as I imagine it was intended, the Republicans say "Okay, but let's look at this realistically. How can we do this in the most responsible manner in order to achieve both your goals and ours?" Or the Republicans who go to Congress saying "I want to encourage business and entrepreneurship! I want people to make lives for themselves and to be rewarded for doing so!" The Democrats' job is then to listen and say "Great idea. Now how do we make this work without subjugating others who are not businessmen and women?"
Now, wouldn't that be idyllic?
Instead what we have are two parties who refuse to listen to the other or even to the people they represent. They take the power of their party and run with it, as far and as quickly as they can, before they are caught or overrun. This is not politics. This is sports. Played with very unsportsmanlike conduct.
(Have you noticed that even in the Superbowl, players from opposing teams help each other off the ground and shake hands after the game? Maybe our politicians should learn to do the same.)
In regards to Wisconsin, the sheer fact that Walker and the Republicans refused dialogue and open discourse with the Democrat representatives and the People is an example of precisely the kind of I-win-you-lose-neener-neener politics that has been displayed in this country for the last number of years.
I am sick of it in the most literal sense of the phrase. I am, in all ways, repulsed by this dyspeptic show of political steroid-induced muscle. And yet I fear it has only just begun.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
UPDATE
I've updated the Photos page and will being doing so regularly from now on. Because of limited space on Flickr, my complete albums are on Facebook, the links to which are on the Photos page. Enjoy!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Lady Macbeth of OMG I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR
If my Israeli shopping experiences are any indication, there are two things Israelis love more than life itself:
1. Chocolate
2. Shoes
Crazy Baby Mama, do you concur?
Tonight I went out on a mission with my roommate: To exchange a few more of my Traveler's Cheques and to find an outfit suitable for the opera. Perhaps it was because we were pressed for time, or maybe it's because I'm cheap, but this turned out to be a much more challenging endeavor than I originally envisioned.
First, opera? Yes, opera. The Tel Aviv Opera is performing Shostakovitch's Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk at the Tel Aviv Performing Arts Center for the next two weeks, and I decided this would be a wonderful way to initiate myself into the world of opera which, before my music history classes, was a terrifying and entirely foreign world (not just because they're all in foreign languages). After hearing my professor's fantastic explanation of Lady Macbeth and the trouble that ensued for Shostakovitch, I realized I had no choice but to see it as soon as possible. When I found out it was playing in Tel Aviv, I quickly decided I must go, so next week Thursday (barring a sold-out theater) a friend and I will take a bus there to see Shostakovitch's thrilling and incendiary opera which, I might add, won him his first denunciation in Stalinist Russia. Though only after a few weeks of great success.
Now my problem is wardrobe. I nearly kicked myself when my internal monologue whined "I have nothing to wear!" But it's true. I packed for Israel - and more specifically for a kibbutz - knowing that I probably wouldn't need black satin or nice sweaters. Well, now I need precisely that and I don't have it in my limited closet. So off to Rehovot we went, and back I came without shoes, a skirt, or a top. Though I did get fresh dates and dried kiwi!
I was also unable to get to Bank HaPoalim because they have hours which easily confuse an American. Only open until 1:ish most days of the week, until 6:30 pm Mondays and Thursdays...that makes it very challenging for an Ulpan student on a kibbutz to get over there. Still, I'll make it work. Maybe this Thursday.
It fascinated me, though, how on a single street, on a single block, I passed four shoe stores. At least I know that if I need to buy a cute pair of black shoes I won't be at a loss.
And Israeli fashion is very different from American fashion. In some ways I love it and it's just what I've wanted to find, but for the most part what I've found here seems to be heavily influenced by European styles that quite frankly make no sense to me. Really, there are some kinds of clothes I simply don't know how to wear. And I'm not terribly interested in paying fifty dollars for a shirt that can only be worn with at least two other shirts at the same time. I just don't get it.
Still, what I wear to the opera is much less important than actually going. If I show up in a black cotton knee-length skirt with sandals and a cute top, nobody will kick me out, and with Shostakovitch's opera playing in a dark theater, not a person will notice me. Unless they really don't like Shostakovitch. In which case I wonder "Why are they there?" Really, it's not the end of the world if I don't find something.
It also gives me an excuse to go out again, find some new places, walk around, and finally get that cup of gelato I've been craving since I got here.
P.S. About the Israeli obsession with chocolate: In addition to there being tons of candy and chocolate pastry everywhere, there's this chocolate spread (like Nutella minus the hazelnuts) that is like crack to Israelis. Kind of like Americans and peanut butter, I suppose.
1. Chocolate
2. Shoes
Crazy Baby Mama, do you concur?
Tonight I went out on a mission with my roommate: To exchange a few more of my Traveler's Cheques and to find an outfit suitable for the opera. Perhaps it was because we were pressed for time, or maybe it's because I'm cheap, but this turned out to be a much more challenging endeavor than I originally envisioned.
First, opera? Yes, opera. The Tel Aviv Opera is performing Shostakovitch's Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk at the Tel Aviv Performing Arts Center for the next two weeks, and I decided this would be a wonderful way to initiate myself into the world of opera which, before my music history classes, was a terrifying and entirely foreign world (not just because they're all in foreign languages). After hearing my professor's fantastic explanation of Lady Macbeth and the trouble that ensued for Shostakovitch, I realized I had no choice but to see it as soon as possible. When I found out it was playing in Tel Aviv, I quickly decided I must go, so next week Thursday (barring a sold-out theater) a friend and I will take a bus there to see Shostakovitch's thrilling and incendiary opera which, I might add, won him his first denunciation in Stalinist Russia. Though only after a few weeks of great success.
Now my problem is wardrobe. I nearly kicked myself when my internal monologue whined "I have nothing to wear!" But it's true. I packed for Israel - and more specifically for a kibbutz - knowing that I probably wouldn't need black satin or nice sweaters. Well, now I need precisely that and I don't have it in my limited closet. So off to Rehovot we went, and back I came without shoes, a skirt, or a top. Though I did get fresh dates and dried kiwi!
I was also unable to get to Bank HaPoalim because they have hours which easily confuse an American. Only open until 1:ish most days of the week, until 6:30 pm Mondays and Thursdays...that makes it very challenging for an Ulpan student on a kibbutz to get over there. Still, I'll make it work. Maybe this Thursday.
It fascinated me, though, how on a single street, on a single block, I passed four shoe stores. At least I know that if I need to buy a cute pair of black shoes I won't be at a loss.
And Israeli fashion is very different from American fashion. In some ways I love it and it's just what I've wanted to find, but for the most part what I've found here seems to be heavily influenced by European styles that quite frankly make no sense to me. Really, there are some kinds of clothes I simply don't know how to wear. And I'm not terribly interested in paying fifty dollars for a shirt that can only be worn with at least two other shirts at the same time. I just don't get it.
Still, what I wear to the opera is much less important than actually going. If I show up in a black cotton knee-length skirt with sandals and a cute top, nobody will kick me out, and with Shostakovitch's opera playing in a dark theater, not a person will notice me. Unless they really don't like Shostakovitch. In which case I wonder "Why are they there?" Really, it's not the end of the world if I don't find something.
It also gives me an excuse to go out again, find some new places, walk around, and finally get that cup of gelato I've been craving since I got here.
P.S. About the Israeli obsession with chocolate: In addition to there being tons of candy and chocolate pastry everywhere, there's this chocolate spread (like Nutella minus the hazelnuts) that is like crack to Israelis. Kind of like Americans and peanut butter, I suppose.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Sabbath-induced Zen
In an effort to find a better Internet connection, this post is coming to you from outdoors in the middle of the kibbutz after dark, where I have found a previously undiscovered FOUR BARS OF INTERNET CONNECTION! Now you know where I will be for all future Skype dates.
_________________________________________________________________________
Growing up, Shabbos was always about going to shul (synagogue) on Saturday morning, hoping to make the minyan (quorum required for certain parts of the service), then relaxing the rest of the day while my parents took their requisite Shabbos Afternoon Naps. When I was at camp, it was about dressing up on Friday evening, taking pictures and giving every single person on the machaneh (camp) a Shabbat Sha'hug. It was also about singing extra loud, enjoying the extra long Shabbat menuchah (rest time), and writing a few extra letters to friends and family.
In the last few years I have gradually ratified my personal meaning of Shabbos. I began to refuse to do school work or check my e-mail in order to better sanctify this one day of rest. I have also started to avoid handling money or riding in cars so that I know - and everyone around me knows - that this day is important to me.
In Israel, Shabbat has added significance: for many people, Friday afternoon through Saturday is the entirety of their weekend, which means that for some, Saturday is their only opportunity to travel, go somewhere fun, or just get away. This explains why even though public transportation does not run on Shabbat (per Jewish Rabbinic law), there are still plenty of cars on the streets.
Last night I went to services and had dinner again at my adopted family's house. After the other guests had left, I stayed up with my Israeli mom and found out that she actually came from a very religious family. In fact, she's the only one of the four daughters who is not still religious. I shouldn't say she's not religious, though. She's just not Dati, orthodox. She does keep Kosher, and she still has a very strong connection to G-d and her religion. She just firmly believes that there is more than one way to be a Jew. And I love her all the more for that.
Today I went to the morning services on the Kibbutz for the first time. I'm sorry to say, but I don't know if I'll be going back. I felt more like a spectator at a men's private function, allowed to sit in the back row only if I promised to be quiet (which wasn't too much of a problem since despite the fact that I know the service very well, I was lost half the time). For the first time in my post-Bat Mitzvah life, I actually kind of wanted to leave the service early because I truly felt I wasn't getting anything out of it.
After services ended around 10:00 am, I went back to my room, grabbed a book, my crochet project, and a towel, and laid out in the sun for a few hours. Then I made myself a quick lunch, tuned a guitar, and found the perfect place to spend the rest of my afternoon: underneath a young olive tree, surrounded by waist-high grass (or thigh-high for you tall people) and clover with yellow flowers. With no one around, I could focus intently on the sounds of the veritable menagerie of birds hidden nearby while basking in the mottled sun peaking through the olive branches. I read some more, serenaded myself, and possibly napped. Or meditated, I'm not sure which.
We are told that Shabbat is a day of rest where we should not do any work. By rabbinic standards some of my activities were, in fact, work, but quite honestly, I don't remember the last time I was this relaxed. It was a beautiful day.
Days like this make me wonder about what all those rabbinic laws really mean, and what G-d actually intended. There are days when I can't help but notice all the things I do that would be considered a breach of the Sabbath in a more religious home. Then there are days like today when I am fully immersed in nature and Creation and I am, for a moment, convinced that this is what is meant when we are told to "keep the Sabbath holy."
I suspect that with each week, month, and year that passes, my interpretation of Shabbat will change to fit ever-changing circumstances. I hope that I am open to that change and am always able to come away from my Sabbaths feeling energized and refreshed for the week to come.
_________________________________________________________________________
Growing up, Shabbos was always about going to shul (synagogue) on Saturday morning, hoping to make the minyan (quorum required for certain parts of the service), then relaxing the rest of the day while my parents took their requisite Shabbos Afternoon Naps. When I was at camp, it was about dressing up on Friday evening, taking pictures and giving every single person on the machaneh (camp) a Shabbat Sha'hug. It was also about singing extra loud, enjoying the extra long Shabbat menuchah (rest time), and writing a few extra letters to friends and family.
In the last few years I have gradually ratified my personal meaning of Shabbos. I began to refuse to do school work or check my e-mail in order to better sanctify this one day of rest. I have also started to avoid handling money or riding in cars so that I know - and everyone around me knows - that this day is important to me.
In Israel, Shabbat has added significance: for many people, Friday afternoon through Saturday is the entirety of their weekend, which means that for some, Saturday is their only opportunity to travel, go somewhere fun, or just get away. This explains why even though public transportation does not run on Shabbat (per Jewish Rabbinic law), there are still plenty of cars on the streets.
Last night I went to services and had dinner again at my adopted family's house. After the other guests had left, I stayed up with my Israeli mom and found out that she actually came from a very religious family. In fact, she's the only one of the four daughters who is not still religious. I shouldn't say she's not religious, though. She's just not Dati, orthodox. She does keep Kosher, and she still has a very strong connection to G-d and her religion. She just firmly believes that there is more than one way to be a Jew. And I love her all the more for that.
Today I went to the morning services on the Kibbutz for the first time. I'm sorry to say, but I don't know if I'll be going back. I felt more like a spectator at a men's private function, allowed to sit in the back row only if I promised to be quiet (which wasn't too much of a problem since despite the fact that I know the service very well, I was lost half the time). For the first time in my post-Bat Mitzvah life, I actually kind of wanted to leave the service early because I truly felt I wasn't getting anything out of it.
After services ended around 10:00 am, I went back to my room, grabbed a book, my crochet project, and a towel, and laid out in the sun for a few hours. Then I made myself a quick lunch, tuned a guitar, and found the perfect place to spend the rest of my afternoon: underneath a young olive tree, surrounded by waist-high grass (or thigh-high for you tall people) and clover with yellow flowers. With no one around, I could focus intently on the sounds of the veritable menagerie of birds hidden nearby while basking in the mottled sun peaking through the olive branches. I read some more, serenaded myself, and possibly napped. Or meditated, I'm not sure which.
We are told that Shabbat is a day of rest where we should not do any work. By rabbinic standards some of my activities were, in fact, work, but quite honestly, I don't remember the last time I was this relaxed. It was a beautiful day.
Days like this make me wonder about what all those rabbinic laws really mean, and what G-d actually intended. There are days when I can't help but notice all the things I do that would be considered a breach of the Sabbath in a more religious home. Then there are days like today when I am fully immersed in nature and Creation and I am, for a moment, convinced that this is what is meant when we are told to "keep the Sabbath holy."
I suspect that with each week, month, and year that passes, my interpretation of Shabbat will change to fit ever-changing circumstances. I hope that I am open to that change and am always able to come away from my Sabbaths feeling energized and refreshed for the week to come.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Yerushalaym Shel Zahav
Yesterday we were taken on a trip to Jerusalem where we went to the Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial, Independence Park, Ben Yehudah Street, the Time Elevator, the Old City, the Kotel (Western Wall), and the excavated tunnels under the Muslim Quarter where you can see more of the wall, plus cisterns (including one that still holds runoff and rain water) and the stone of the mountain itself.
To describe the whole day would take too long and I'm sure some of you have many other things to do today, so I'll try to make this short. So let a short (by my standards) description of each location suffice for now. I'm sure I'll return to them later and will, at that time, write more.
Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial: While there is a museum on site, it is important to remember that the Holocaust Museum is not the only notable structure in this sprawling complex. Yad Vashem is more a collection of memorials and resources including the Garden of the Righteous, the Children's Memorial, and the largest Holocaust Archive in the world, open to the public. We had very little time there, but even if we had had more than two hours we would not have been able to see everything there. I've been there once before and even though everything in the museum was the same it was all just as heart-wrenching, poignant, terrifying, and magnificent as before. It helped that we had a personal guide who turned the entire museum into a narrative, and managed to do it all in little over an hour. That, in and of itself, was a feat.
Independence Park: It was a park, and as far as I could tell there was nothing uniquely special about it. We had lunch there and I took some pictures, all of which will be up later when the Internet connection is a little more reliable.
Ben Yehudah Street: You're familiar with State Street in Madison? Well, imagine that, but in Israel. It's not hard to navigate since nearly all the signs are in English, and you don't have to worry about those pesky cars driving through your walkway (a.k.a. the street). You do, however, have to be on the lookout for speeding bicyclists. If you missed the Kippa shop back there where you really really wanted to buy that awesome New York Giants kippa, fret not, because look, there's another one up there. And another. And another. Right next to the Judaica shop which we've already seen four times. It's like State Street in more ways than one. Anywho, we spent some time there, I bought a scarf, and my friend and I searched every jewelry store for a particular bracelet she wanted. No luck.
The Time Elevator: This is a kitschy amusement aimed at school children and tourists, but with a historical and educated bent. It's an attempt to present the entirety of Jerusalem's 3,000 year old history in 24 minutes. I can't necessarily say I learned a whole lot there, but it was a fun experience. The only things missing were the 3D glasses and Smell-O-Vision. I enjoyed it more for the technical and visual creativity than for the poorly-presented history, but like I said, it was an experience.
Old City: Up until 1860, the entirety of Jerusalem remained within the two-thousand-year-old walls of ancient Jerusalem. Finally, people were paid to start living in neighborhoods outside the safety of the walls, and thus began Jerusalem as we know it today. Inside the walls, there is a fascinating juxtaposition between the new and the old. The streets are made of cobble stones and bricks, all the buildings are made of the unique, white Jerusalem stone (a form of limestone found on those mountains), and there are neon signs above the doors advertising Bonkers Bagels and Rova Pizza. Still, there is no mistaking its age, nor its significance in the Jewish world. Why else would I have heard so many languages other than Hebrew spoken by religious Jews throughout the narrow streets?
HaKotel (The Western Wall): Before I go into an inevitably long emotional narrative, let me first explain what this thing is to which Jews worldwide flock. To my non-Jewish friends, yes, it is a wall. A big, giant, thick wall at the Temple Mount. But this is not the only part of the Wall remaining. There are great expanses that are just as easy to access, to touch, to pray at, if you are so motivated. But it is this point along the Wall that has gained so much significance because it was the closest portion to where the Jewish Temple stood. "But wait, isn't the Wall part of the temple?" No! I thought it was, too, until my first trip to the Kotel in 2009 when I learned that this holy place is simply the remains of the wall of the platform on which the temple stood, and even at that there were a few walls in between. So quite frankly, 2000 years ago this expanse of white brick was the edge of a grand stage, not the main event itself. But, like any Summerfest concert, you'll try to get as close to the lead guitarist as possible without being carried off by the guards. Usually, the edge of the stage is about as far as you'll make it.
I am not going to say the Wall itself has any mystical powers. I'm not even going to say that touching the stones somehow made me closer to G-d. It is, after all, a wall. But surrounding me at that wall were complete strangers who, oddly enough, are family. Each person, praying individually, laughing or crying as their emotions dictated, was part of my extended family. All the people who had touched those stones before, turning them darker and smoother with the passage of time, were also part of my family. And all the millions of hands that will touch those hallowed stones after me will also be from the same mishpacha. It's not that my own experience was so significant but that it was part of a larger collective experience: that of the Jewish people. Being there was like being woven into a large blanket with different strands of color all around me. The warmth of the blanket enveloped me as I became part of it (conflicting metaphors, I know - but isn't Judaism and religion in general a paradox?). Being at the Wall is, for the Jewish people, the single most important statement in any culture, society, ethnicity, or family: I am not alone.
The Tunnels: Alright, now for the not-so-emotional stuff. Like I said, the Wall is merely a small portion of a much larger expanse of wall remaining from the Western side of the platform on the Temple Mount. Just as the Pyramids in Egypt are mind-boggling, so too is this wall. Allow me to say HOLY HUGE BRICKS, BATMAN! A project like this would be an outstanding endeavor today with all our machinery and technology. I can't even imagine how it would be realistic 2,000 years ago. And I'm not the only one: there is one particular OUTRAGEOUSLY LARGE stone in the wall, seen from underground, that is estimated to weigh 12 tons. Even archeologists have yet to figure out exactly how that one got there.
We walked through the underground tunnels where I was exceedingly thankful for my [lack of] height, and we saw artifacts from the time of King Harod, and even a working cistern. Pretty cool, eh? No, not cool. Outstanding.
______________________________________________
So that was yesterday. Awesome, powerful, emotional, fun, and exhausting. I'll admit, I was thankful for the relative calm today.
P.S. I really should have taken that Translation course in the French Department at school - speed-interpreting is fatiguant, especially when you don't know all the words.
To describe the whole day would take too long and I'm sure some of you have many other things to do today, so I'll try to make this short. So let a short (by my standards) description of each location suffice for now. I'm sure I'll return to them later and will, at that time, write more.
Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial: While there is a museum on site, it is important to remember that the Holocaust Museum is not the only notable structure in this sprawling complex. Yad Vashem is more a collection of memorials and resources including the Garden of the Righteous, the Children's Memorial, and the largest Holocaust Archive in the world, open to the public. We had very little time there, but even if we had had more than two hours we would not have been able to see everything there. I've been there once before and even though everything in the museum was the same it was all just as heart-wrenching, poignant, terrifying, and magnificent as before. It helped that we had a personal guide who turned the entire museum into a narrative, and managed to do it all in little over an hour. That, in and of itself, was a feat.
Independence Park: It was a park, and as far as I could tell there was nothing uniquely special about it. We had lunch there and I took some pictures, all of which will be up later when the Internet connection is a little more reliable.
Ben Yehudah Street: You're familiar with State Street in Madison? Well, imagine that, but in Israel. It's not hard to navigate since nearly all the signs are in English, and you don't have to worry about those pesky cars driving through your walkway (a.k.a. the street). You do, however, have to be on the lookout for speeding bicyclists. If you missed the Kippa shop back there where you really really wanted to buy that awesome New York Giants kippa, fret not, because look, there's another one up there. And another. And another. Right next to the Judaica shop which we've already seen four times. It's like State Street in more ways than one. Anywho, we spent some time there, I bought a scarf, and my friend and I searched every jewelry store for a particular bracelet she wanted. No luck.
The Time Elevator: This is a kitschy amusement aimed at school children and tourists, but with a historical and educated bent. It's an attempt to present the entirety of Jerusalem's 3,000 year old history in 24 minutes. I can't necessarily say I learned a whole lot there, but it was a fun experience. The only things missing were the 3D glasses and Smell-O-Vision. I enjoyed it more for the technical and visual creativity than for the poorly-presented history, but like I said, it was an experience.
Old City: Up until 1860, the entirety of Jerusalem remained within the two-thousand-year-old walls of ancient Jerusalem. Finally, people were paid to start living in neighborhoods outside the safety of the walls, and thus began Jerusalem as we know it today. Inside the walls, there is a fascinating juxtaposition between the new and the old. The streets are made of cobble stones and bricks, all the buildings are made of the unique, white Jerusalem stone (a form of limestone found on those mountains), and there are neon signs above the doors advertising Bonkers Bagels and Rova Pizza. Still, there is no mistaking its age, nor its significance in the Jewish world. Why else would I have heard so many languages other than Hebrew spoken by religious Jews throughout the narrow streets?
HaKotel (The Western Wall): Before I go into an inevitably long emotional narrative, let me first explain what this thing is to which Jews worldwide flock. To my non-Jewish friends, yes, it is a wall. A big, giant, thick wall at the Temple Mount. But this is not the only part of the Wall remaining. There are great expanses that are just as easy to access, to touch, to pray at, if you are so motivated. But it is this point along the Wall that has gained so much significance because it was the closest portion to where the Jewish Temple stood. "But wait, isn't the Wall part of the temple?" No! I thought it was, too, until my first trip to the Kotel in 2009 when I learned that this holy place is simply the remains of the wall of the platform on which the temple stood, and even at that there were a few walls in between. So quite frankly, 2000 years ago this expanse of white brick was the edge of a grand stage, not the main event itself. But, like any Summerfest concert, you'll try to get as close to the lead guitarist as possible without being carried off by the guards. Usually, the edge of the stage is about as far as you'll make it.
I am not going to say the Wall itself has any mystical powers. I'm not even going to say that touching the stones somehow made me closer to G-d. It is, after all, a wall. But surrounding me at that wall were complete strangers who, oddly enough, are family. Each person, praying individually, laughing or crying as their emotions dictated, was part of my extended family. All the people who had touched those stones before, turning them darker and smoother with the passage of time, were also part of my family. And all the millions of hands that will touch those hallowed stones after me will also be from the same mishpacha. It's not that my own experience was so significant but that it was part of a larger collective experience: that of the Jewish people. Being there was like being woven into a large blanket with different strands of color all around me. The warmth of the blanket enveloped me as I became part of it (conflicting metaphors, I know - but isn't Judaism and religion in general a paradox?). Being at the Wall is, for the Jewish people, the single most important statement in any culture, society, ethnicity, or family: I am not alone.
The Tunnels: Alright, now for the not-so-emotional stuff. Like I said, the Wall is merely a small portion of a much larger expanse of wall remaining from the Western side of the platform on the Temple Mount. Just as the Pyramids in Egypt are mind-boggling, so too is this wall. Allow me to say HOLY HUGE BRICKS, BATMAN! A project like this would be an outstanding endeavor today with all our machinery and technology. I can't even imagine how it would be realistic 2,000 years ago. And I'm not the only one: there is one particular OUTRAGEOUSLY LARGE stone in the wall, seen from underground, that is estimated to weigh 12 tons. Even archeologists have yet to figure out exactly how that one got there.
We walked through the underground tunnels where I was exceedingly thankful for my [lack of] height, and we saw artifacts from the time of King Harod, and even a working cistern. Pretty cool, eh? No, not cool. Outstanding.
______________________________________________
So that was yesterday. Awesome, powerful, emotional, fun, and exhausting. I'll admit, I was thankful for the relative calm today.
P.S. I really should have taken that Translation course in the French Department at school - speed-interpreting is fatiguant, especially when you don't know all the words.
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